Ambassador
by Xarr
Summary: Harry didn't return to fight Voldemort. Instead, he chose to take the train and move on. However, he soon begins to realize that wherever he is, it doesn't seem to be an afterlife anyone ever envisioned. Leave it to Dumbledore to be impossibly vague, even in death. Assumptions, after all, have no obligations of being true.
1. Prologue

He was put off slightly at the apparent normalcy of it all. One would suspect there was more fanfare in death and what came beyond. Death was a mystery; the living can only imagine what lay ahead. It was somehow both exhilarating and terrifying to no longer have to wonder. After releasing a fortifying breath and steeling his nerves, Harry alighted from the train.

His foot found purchase on forest ground, rife with slowly decaying leaves and scattered twigs. Taking careful stock of his surroundings, he noticed that few roots were visible, and that the bushes grew thick. Navigating might be a small hassle from here on out; there were trees as far as the eyes could see, though it was at least bright, with sunlight shining through spaces in the canopy.

Oddly enough, the smell of the surrounding area reminded him of the forbidden forest. He found it ironic that he'd taken a train to ride to what was, essentially, the same location he had departed from. He blinked a few times, astounded by his mundane thoughts. Perhaps this was all an illusion to soften the blow, so to speak? Guesswork aside, he shook his head as if to ward away more thoughts. That done, he chose a direction at random then started walking.

"Next great adventure, indeed," he muttered sardonically. Wasn't this supposed to be a more climactic point in his life? Oh, wait. Existence? Shaking his head slightly, he only idly noted that the train behind him was gone. Looking around again, he wondered: what was there to do now, after death?

* * *

As it turns out, there seemed to still be a lot to do after death. What felt like hours had passed and Harry still had no idea what to do and where to go. Worse, still, were all the sensations he thought he'd never have to deal with again. The loo was never really something he envisioned looking for in the afterlife. That said, neither were potable water and food, but by the itching in his throat and the grumbling of his stomach he needed to look for both, soon. Unfortunately, there was still no end to the forest.

Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice that his surroundings became almost preternaturally quiet. Minutes ticked by and he finally caught on, but it was only because of the tall hunched figure ahead of him: black fur, white bone, and what appeared to be monstrous strength. It looked like a demented werewolf. Foreboding red eyes zeroed in on emerald green. The world stopped.

Oddly enough, there was no fear left in him. Perhaps it was a side effect of having believed he passed on but, put in his current situation, Harry couldn't help but be curious instead. Death after death? It seemed silly, though intriguing. Even the prospect of pain didn't seem to bother him, and that in itself was worrying, but there was only a tentative calm as the creature approached, boned muzzle in the air as if looking for something more.

Then, incredibly, it nudged at his hand. The white mask was cool to the touch. As he marveled at the turn of events, he found himself rubbing behind its ears. The fur was tough, almost sharp, but he continued anyway.

 _Huh, thanks Hagrid._

Its throat rumbled at the motion, seemingly pleased. It broke away from him after a short while, and once again raised its head up into the now darkening sky. This time, it was to howl. The baying echoed off into the distance. Harry cringed at the volume, but was otherwise content to observe.

Soon enough, more of what seemed to be the same creature flocked towards their location. A pack, then. Each individual approached him just as the first had. That was fine; he had just about enough rubs for all four of them. Just as he did earlier, when he got off the train, he marveled at the seemingly innocuous normality of it all.

* * *

Somewhere in Beacon, a white-haired man sipped almost solemnly from his mug. His eyes were riveted to a screen in front him that was showing the impossible: non-hostile interaction with the grimm. Just who was this boy?


	2. Chapter 1

After meandering with the werewolves for some time, Harry finally came across other human beings while stumbling upon a clearing. He wanted to smile when he realized that they didn't recognize him. Perhaps this was simply another remote part of the world, and his moving on was simply reprieve from the harsh and demanding British Wizarding World, his well-earned prize of normalcy. Well, he supposed, he could dream.

But the reaction of the pack behind him was far removed from his own encounter with them. Instead of an innocent curiosity he could feel an age-old enmity between the two groups. The three people in front of him were frozen in fear. They looked like simple villagers. As he focused on them, though, he could see a slight outline of light surrounding them then his vision blurred, and his breathing quickened.

Everything was red.

With it came a vivid recollection of Moony's transformation. Harry could remember the agony on the other's face as their body contorted and shifted. The end result: a werewolf. It was gangly and wiry, it muscles taut beneath the beige fur, always ready to strike.

In much the same way, his own body responded to an unholy call, rage bubbling in his blood and spreading through his veins like wildfire. It was an alien feeling, but it was as euphoric as it was maddening. There would be satisfaction in the impending bloodbath. He would go up close and stalk his prey, then he would strike, would rend and –

With a scream, he gripped his head and wrested control of his senses. The world around him harshly snapped back into focus, sending him reeling from the suddenness. Then there was too much green. Too much light. He shut his eyes to limit the input to his brain, but his ears continued ringing. With his balance lost, Harry fell to his knees as he felt the ground writhe from under him. An impossibly long moment passed.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear something approaching. Everything was still too vague. His ears weren't filtering the sounds properly, making it impossible to distinguish anything particular in the noise around him. Slowly, all but painstakingly, he started to open his eyes to try and regain his bearings.

Everything was red.

The ground was sticky. Some scattered leaves were coated with a thick, viscous liquid. The trees around were splattered by a madman's brush of darkening red hues. But he remembers nothing.

Harry fell on his ass, scrambling backwards until he hit a tree. Around him, the pack of werewolves were apoplectic, their red eyes almost gleaming with malice in contrast to their bone-white masks. Then he blinked. Werewolves didn't have masks. Didn't have fur that sharp and dark. He began to question his sanity as he realized that he had been nonchalantly travelling with a pack of these hulking brutes.

What little reason they favored him was gone. In its place was a primal savagery. He could hear flesh tearing and bones crunching. They were all impossibly loud, and all too real. He was deathly still, unwilling to become a target.

An arm was thrown his way, hitting a patch of dirt in front of him with a wet slap. It was surrounded in an unearthly glow. As his eyes focused on it, he could once again feel the bloodlust start to take hold. He wanted the arm gone. He wanted to smash it against the trunk of a tree, crush it with and under rocks and obliterate it with a curse. It was wrong. _Wrong, wrong, wrong_ –

Bile rose in his throat as his nails dug hard enough into his palms to draw blood. The pain was a flimsy anchor, but it served as enough of a distraction. He could not lose himself to that again. The implications were horrifying.

One of the pack seemed to have noticed him. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw it approach. As it reached him, the beast kneeled down and took the arm. Again its eyes bore into his and then, slowly, it bit into the severed limb. As it did, the unnatural feel coating the arm dimmed, and he felt the grip on his thoughts ease. Then, as if it always was, the arm, with a good chunk of it now missing, was on his lap. He stared at it, at the blood dripping from the stringy bits of flesh and at the same blood now pooling on his trousers. The smell of death brushed passed him, then everything went hazy, as if in a dream. Tough, pitch-black, fur grazed against him, and he noticed it was the beast nuzzling him with its masked head, as if entreating him to take a bite. The redness of its eyes no longer looked so menacing. He could feel the vibrations of a low growl against his cheek. Somehow, he felt at ease, as if he were far away from all this madness, and everything was as it should be.

His mouth opened slowly.

In the next moment he was gagging and retching, then he fell sick onto the forest floor.

The one who approached him bit into the shirt at the scruff of his neck then lifted him up in a gentle, almost parental, way. Mind in a daze, he could not process what he had just done nor what was happening. Then, he knew nothing.

* * *

The world grudgingly came back into focus. After which, he vaguely realized that he was on the ground again. It was a small miracle that his glasses were not damaged, much less still on his face. Perhaps all those years of Quidditch were to thank for that. Glad for the small reprieve in what has probably been the most stressful time in his life. Wait, second life?

There goes the reprieve.

Harry sighed and looked up at the trees, then crinkled his nose at the malodorous stench he was giving off. Sweat, blood, and guts sort of did that, he supposed. He had seen enough of all three in his past life. Sadly, it seems to be strong enough of a trend to follow him here, wherever this was.

The pack of not-werewolves were nowhere to be seen, but the unnatural quiet and stillness surrounding where he lay was proof enough that they were nearby; the other animals were wary of them. Rightly so, after he had witnessed firsthand what they were capable of. The shock probably hadn't settled in, yet, and he currently had no plans of letting his mind wander to the carnage from a while back. He would take care of the little things first. They were good enough of a distraction, for the moment.

Getting up, he started to look for any body of water to wash everything off of him.

That was when he was hauled bodily off his feet.

Next thing he knew, he was in the arms of one black-furred brute from before, apparently running away from something at an incredible speed, if the wind whipping his face was any indication. Then, without warning, it dropped him, and stopped with its eyes zeroed in on something in the distance. From where it was looking came a light stronger than he had seen on the butchered civilians a while back. It was almost blinding in intensity, and it was coming straight for them. What he surmised as panic shown earlier by the creature was gone, replaced by a preternatural fury. Its hackles rose and it gave off an almost deafening roar.

The same fury filled his veins and he felt himself convulse at the suddenness. His muscles pulled taut, straining to be used, and he could only vaguely hold on to his sanity. Occlumency seemed to be of little use, though he probably wasn't in the most controlled of emotional states to be drawing upon the mental arts. Did magic even exist here? Without a wand, he had little way of knowing, much less channeling that force.

Idly, he noted that he really, really, really, wanted a good dose of the cheering charm about now.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that what came out to confront them was human. The people from here seemed to cause the drastic reaction, and that was frightening. What was even more unnerving, though, was the grin on the young woman's face as she stared down the monster almost twice as tall as her. Her gauntleted hand rose to beckon her opponent. The beast moved swiftly in response, charging at her with its claws reared back to slash and rend. He tried to yell, then. To warn her. Which, in hindsight, seemed a bit silly seeing as it was literally in front of her. There was no way she didn't see it coming. But his own inner turmoil stilled his tongue and constricted his throat. Unable to have a lapse in concentration, he continued to focus his efforts on simply keeping still, lest he succumb and attack her, himself.

It turns out that he didn't even have to bother with his failed attempt at warning her. With a simple sidestep, she dodged the incoming attack with almost ridiculous ease, then countered with an uppercut that literally exploded into the side of the creature. Stunned, the beast could do little but take more of the same blows, their harsh force peppering the air with the sound of small blasts. Finally, it toppled over in defeat, and in but moments dissolved into black wisps of smoke, eventually fading completely into the air. That was definitely not a werewolf, then. And this person, it was a wonder how she moved with such speed and dexterity. But he could hardly keep his eyes on her, what with that damned lightshow she was giving off

He blinked once, noting the decidedly less grim thoughts percolating in his head. He blinked again, then sighed, his body relaxing slightly from its overly alert state. The feeling of enmity wasn't gone completely, but it wasn't as suffocating as before. In short order, the newcomer turned to look at him, face curious. She looked young and easy-going, with her casual grin and luscious blonde hair cascading behind her. He really couldn't process much else, as he kept his eyes to hers. The jovial expression turned pinched at the sight of him, though, and he couldn't tell if it was because she noted his earlier aggressive stance, or his general state of disarray. Sighing again, he forced his body to relax more, and let his hands fall to his sides, palms up to show he was not aggressive. However, he was unable to meet her gaze, as the light proved too much to directly stare at. She quirked an eyebrow at that, arms akimbo, but didn't speak.

It was up to him to communicate, then. But, before he was able to open his mouth, another, shorter, girl sprinted to a halt beside the first so quickly that the brushes rustled only after she appeared. This one had red-tipped black hair and startling silver eyes. They looked haunted at the sight of him, though. And he felt uncomfortable, pinned in her gaze as he tried to avoid it. Without looking away from him, she began to speak, her lips opening to say…

Gibberish. He couldn't understand her words. It wasn't that surprising, really, especially with how many languages exist in the world. But what it was, was frustrating. The cadence, and even pronunciation, seemed so close to English that it left him feeling exasperated. The words he heard simply had no meaning behind them. At least, none that he could fathom.

As he pondered that, he frowned as the blonde tensed at whatever the other girl said. Her stance now aggressive, she pointed at him and spoke harshly. But again, he couldn't interpret the words. Giving off a confused look himself, he replied.

"Look, I don't know what's going on," he started, but was interrupted when he noted the looks of confusion he was given in return, all three now realized the language barrier between them. The shorter of the two had her brows knitted, in consternation, as far as he could tell, then muttered something to the other. This had the blonde quirking her eyebrow again, but could only shrug in response. He lost track of the shorter girl, at that moment.

That was when he felt something impact his stomach, and then all was black.

* * *

"Did you really have to knock him out, Rubes?" The blond asked her sister. They were all still somewhat bewildered at the uncharacteristic display of violence from their youngest, at least to another person. Then again, the sight of those brutalized civilians probably had them all on edge. It was far from a pretty sight, and certainly the worst they've seen so far.

It was indeed peculiar that the raven-haired boy was not in the same state as the rest: killed and eaten. Weiss simply scoffed and suspected dumb luck, while Blake didn't want to jump to any conclusions, just yet. The brawler just hoped Ruby would be better before long. The intense look she gave the stranger didn't escape her notice, and she was left to wonder at what that meant. She'd give her until the end of this bullhead ride to sort her thoughts, then maybe privately confront her later on.

At first, the hooded girl didn't respond, lost in a scene replaying in her mind. As the question registered, though, she was able to reply.

"I don't really get it yet, Yang. It's just, I thought I saw him do something…" she trailed off there, still unable to wrap her mind around it. The strange boy had bitten into a severed arm, _and then chewed_. At least, that was what her eyes told her as she spied on him through the scope of her rifle, and before she almost dropped said weapon in shock. Her brain didn't want to comprehend it that way just yet, not when it could've been a trick of the light or something. Or she just simply didn't want to accept that another person could ever do what she thought she saw. In fact, she was embarrassed enough at her reaction to that spectacle. It had delayed them quite a bit as she almost hyperventilated right then as she floundered to catch Crescent Rose as it all but slipped from her hands. Still, she tried to put on a brave face and eventually did lead her team to eliminate the pack of beowolves. Then again, by now such opponents were rote and it definitely was not a difficult mission.

Everyone probably saw through her. Weiss had narrowed eyes, and that was enough of an explanation. Though Blake was not much in the way of expressions, she was sure that little escaped the faunus' eyes. How to explain?

"Eh," she said perfectly eloquently, "it was probably a bad cookie I ate acting up at just the wrong time! I know I shouldn't bring snacks on missions but hey." Her trademark goofy expression was on, and even she giggled at what she said, mood brightening up already as she stuck her tongue out and bopped herself on the head. The rest of her team simply shook their heads at her antics, apparently satisfied to let the matter drop, for now.

Blake and Weiss instead continued to try and make sense of their unexpected guest, who was dumped rather unceremoniously in a far corner of the aerial transport. The smell didn't exactly endear him to them, and he wasn't able to explain anything while unconscious. Scratch that, maybe he couldn't explain anything at all, if Yang and Ruby were to be believed.

The pilot announced that they would be landing at Beacon soon. Perhaps then they'd have some form of answers.


End file.
